Run Refuel Repeat

It is a psychological bias to underestimate the time and resources necessary to complete a goal.

Typically applied to business, I have found this concept holds true in physical fitness. What is the old saying…we make plans and god laughs?

It’s so easy to look at an elite runner, or someone with a great physique, and say “it just comes naturally to them.” It easier to say “I must be different, I am not built like that,” than to admit that what it will take to get to level z is a lot more than you once thought. Progress takes work. I am not afraid to put in the work.

I have been pushing ahead, burning shoe-rubber into asphalt, slamming pebbles into my shoes, and putting time and a half in at the gym. Having anorexic dinosaur arms is not an option for me, but it is tough to do squats, lunges and leg presses after putting in 30 mile weeks. Pain is part of the game.

My diet has been impeccable, but I have recently started tracking my macros, to find room for improvement. I am working with 35% protein (200g) 35% carbs (200g), and 30% fats (80g). Over the past few months, my body fat has dropped by 6%.

On a tangent: Having fallen victim to negative thinking and depressive thoughts in the past, compounded by a healthy serving of neurosis, I have found it effective to redirect all worthless rumination to a positive outlet. Focusing on hobbies, has lead to positive outcomes. My current points of focus are running and strength training. For a while, I devoted countless hours to fishing, but that has since taken the back burner. I really don’t think about negative, superficial, sometimes even real-ish aspects of life and social interaction, because I am using most of my cognitive resources to excel myself through my body. It is always on my mind…That and satirically joking about everyone and everything. I read about nutrition, I read about running form, I read about places to run, I shop gear, I find new exercises. It goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

My running nutrition on the other hand is a puzzle wrapped inside of a mystery, in the middle of a haystack. I have tried all the drinks, and the gels. Last week I gave up on “sports nutrition products” and switched to solid foods. Dates have a low glycemic index and are supposed to be a great source of carbs. They don’t create an insulin spike, thus provide sustained energy. I have been avoiding bread, as it is pretty adverse to my goals and leads to fat, an enemy of my washboard ab dreams.

Over the past weekend, I embarked on a solo mission to tackle Jonathan Dickinson park, which has been kicking my ass over the past couple months. I consumed 60g of quick carbs and some complex carbs beforehand, 100mg of caffeine, and water. The spiders were wild, I had a huge specimen on my head and did a little dance to get it off. Some people running behind me turned back because they couldn’t handle the bugs. The horse flies were starving for flesh. I stopped a few times, unable to get them off of me, and just started a horse fly genocide, killing one at a time. I must have killed at least 100, but then they got angry, and swarms bombarded me for revenge of their fallen comrades. For some reason, I was dead before and after the dunes. This is only 3-4 miles in, not a difficult distance by any stretch. I had no choice but to push on to my water cooler which I had stashed by a picnic table in the mountain bike trail head area. I had a few salt tabs and 4 dates thus far, and still felt somewhat alive.

I took a wrong turn somewhere, added another mile, ended up panting to my cooler, coming out of a bush. A few people had bikes leaning against the picnic table near my cooler. I poured 2 freezing bottles of water over my head, took off my shoes, my socks, my shirt, my hydration pack, drank 3 bottles of water, ate half a mango, and thought to myself, “damn that mango is refreshing, good call bringing it.” A mountain-biker-lady was talking to me about some DTR races, as I sat with my face on the table. A moment later, the mango told me it didn’t like my stomach, and decided to return to the soil violently. All the water I had swallowed ended up on the ground as well.

I drank another bottle of water, filled up my hydration back, changed my socks, and continued on-wards back to my car. I planned to do a few more miles, but my body had planned differently. (The looks I got from the surrounding folks {no normal people under 30 use this word} was priceless: coming out of a bush, throwing up for 5 minutes, then taking more water and starting to run again, Savage).

The next couple miles were as if my shoes morphed into bricks, and I had liquid concrete injected into my veins. It was rough. I made it to my car, went to the camping area bathrooms, and showered with my clothes on, including my shoes. This 10-11 mile run had bested me once again.

In previous training sessions, I would have pushed a few more miles, but at this point, I know when I should retire to fight another day. At some point, you start doing more harm over training than good. At least I know when this is some of the time now.

I will figure this out. I will figure this out. I will figure this out. I think I can, I think I can, shit I hope I can. Next weekend, I will be doing what all Jews do in the face of adversity… I will eat a bagel.

I will eat bagel with some protein and a banana before my more challenging run. I am assuming I don’t have enough fuel going in. I will report back how my body responds. This is a trial and error experiment, not to be tried at home.